About six months ago I had this awful dream. Closest I have come to a nightmare in years actually. In the dream I accidentally killed a man. I don't remember how mostly because that was not the main focus of the dream. The real point was that I decided rather then doing the right thing and fessing up that I was going to bury the body in hopes that no one would ever find it. And that's what I did. I dug a hole and buried the body. Simple. Except that this is really just the first few 'minutes' of the dream. The rest is just feeling the awesome weight of this guilt and fear. Guilt not so much for having killed a man, but for not for having the courage to do what was right. And fear, well the terrifying, suffocating fear that I would get caught. I woke with those feelings and they were so intense that I spend a few moments trying to convince myself that it was only a dream. I felt rotten all day.

Now here is the crazy bit. Last night the dream came back to me. And get this - In this dream my FATHER finds the body. I learn of this because he calmly and matter-of-factly tells me that while planting a vegetable garden in the back yard that he has found the remains of a human corpse. My reaction is one of near panic. I wait for him to say that he is going to call the authorities. I am certain now that I am finally going to be caught, that all this has caught up with me. For a few moments I feel the guilt and fear all over again, but then my father says to me, "Come take a look. The bones are so beautiful". Turns out he has no intention for calling the cops. He wants my assistance in cleaning and caring for the bones. I follow him to the yard and there amongst the newly planted garden of root vegetables - beet, turnips, carrots - he has placed the bones - skull, ribs, ulnas and femurs. They are bleaching in the sun. I am timorous at first, but it soon becomes clear that truly I have nothing to fear. I spend some time touching the bones and I begin to realize that this is something my father and I will work on together. This garden and these bones, but soon he reveals that he is leaving and that he is putting it all in my care. I am sad of course, but I don't have much time to think about it. By the time my dad is out of sight I have to begin weeding and moving the bones to pace the patches of sun as they move across the afternoon garden. I woke with a smile on my face.

wooo yeah

ugh. give me midal or give me death.

I am gonna do something that I find kinda lame, but since certain people dear to me have encouraged me to update my site and I since am far too lazy to do anything new or original, I have decided to copy the majority of an email I wrote to a friend a few days ago. It both covers some of the basics and also represents the largest number of words I have typed on a screen in months (not counting work related words). The below text was in reply to the question, "How are you?":

In a word, things are GREAT. I am happy and healthy and I have a garden. I have been kissing boys and baking pies (my current masterpiece is the raspberry cream pie) and two weeks ago I jumped out of a plane... FOR FUN.

30 kinda rules.

I have been perusing the Odessa High School Class of 1959's website. I recommend that you take a gander. Comparing individual's "what I would like to do most" and what they actually ended up doing (when mentioned) is equally comical, heartwarming and sad. Also sometimes creepy. It was a different time in 1959, but also the one thing that has not changed is that people still routinely fall way waaay waaaay short of their dreams.

Since I know from personal experience how much time this site can steal from you, day in and day out, here is an abbreviated list of highlights:

Linda Kaye Owens
Wayne Dwight Love
Eugene Tynes Breithaupt
Linda Gaye Shaffer
James King Perry
Joyce Jennice Kuehn
Kent Ronald Edminston
Billy Gutherie
Lucretia Hickerson
Eddie Ray Dunn

Catch that falling star!!

Dear make a wish foundation,

Just once, before my terrible illness consumes me, I would like to have a threesome with Orlando Bloom and Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

Let me know what you can do.

thanks,

mars parker

MP/mc

ps: if Heath Ledger could stand by with lemonade, that would be great.

^^^
yeah yeah... Scads of fantasy books, trifling heartache, a trip to london, and a whole icy month later and that's still all I have to say for myself. And actually marychen said it for me.

I think I have reached a new low. wait. high? I don't honestly know.

I ventured down to the kitchen late last night in nothing but my new fuzzy red muppet slippers and green long johns in search of a midnight snack. I quickly settled on my leftover laotian lunch. I ate out of the carton with my fingers. Who needs forks? I was leaning against the sink, sweet milky green curry burning my lips, when it struck me. Dessert! While this might not really seem like a huge leap, please remember that 1) I am not really a dessert sorta gal and 2) not 5 minutes before I had been right ready for bed. Teeth brushed and flossed and everything.

Now while I might not be a dessert gal, I certainly am the sort of cosmopolitan lady who will - without a second thought - take a beer, a cigarette, or hell, even a cosmopolitan to bed. But this gentle readers marks the first time I have ever taken a bowl of vanilla ice cream to bed. Vanilla ice cream with raspberry granola sprinkled on top. mmm.

So next thing I know there I am. Slippers off. Stupid sappy Scud Mountain Boys on the juke box. Long johns. Lips still singing from curry. Vanilla ice cream. mmm, I say again!

When I was finished I placed the bowl and spoon (we all need spoons) down on the floor beside the empty bottles of the pervious night's lullaby and I tucked myself in.

Now, Tell me - is that a high or a low?

The PA drivers manual is possibly the most boring thing I have ever read. 30 more grueling pages to go. Why the crap didn't I get my drivers licenses when I was 16? Don't answer that. bleh.

Last night K had me over for burritos and Buster Keaton. I had never watched a Buster Keaton movie. In fact I can count on about 3 fingers (now 4) how many silent films I have seen. You see, I have a great bias against "old" movies which is weird cause just about anything else that's older than me I sort look to with a weird almost unhealthy reverence. Note the stack of 1926 World Book encyclopedias at the foot of my bed or my precious, fastidiously maintained collection of the china, jewelry and other oddities of dead relatives. Anyway. Steamboat Bill was spectacular. Not only because it is disarmingly sweet and funny but in that it's a fucking action movie of the highest order. There is this series of scenes which take place during a hurricane and building after building is collapsing and cars are being blown away and Buster Keaton is literally flying around the set doing his own stunts and I am sitting there gasping and laughing not only because I am caught up in the moment, but because even in its black n' white and silent simplicity this is Terminator 3 meets Jackie Chan. But it's so much more amazing then either of those cause you know, it's 1920 something (1928 actually). I was/am amazed. I am now a Buster Keaton fan. Thank you K. Also - an aside - I can now joyously posit that while Jonathan Rhys Meyers is the prettiest man alive, Buster Keaton takes the title of prettiest man at rest in the grave.

It's my half birthday. Did anybody else grow up thinking that was a special day? Anyway. No sleep till 30! whoo!

Below you will find an amusing and highly instructional story. It was sent to me by my very dear internet Pal, Matt.

* * *

I took the MAT today (Miller Analogies Test) today. It's one of those tests you can take to prove to grad schools that your BA didn't come out of a bubblegum machine. I actually took it twice, once on paper and then on computer, so the Psychological Corporation (that's their actual name) could validate the computer test. In exchange for this, I got to take it for free.

Ever take the MAT? It's actually quite a good brain-teaser. Essentially, you have four-part analogies, such as:

Day:Night::Up:Down

While you probably HAVE had test questions like this, unless you take the MAT you will never have to complete 100 of them. My brain ached before I was done. Anyhoo, my eyebrows went up at this one:

Mars:Planets::Oat:Cereals

Mars! And Oats! In one thought!!

Then, to make matters even weirder, the computer test had "Rare" and "Oat" in one sentence, with "pear" as an option... I made a choking sound, one loud enough to attract the proctor's attention. She raised her eyebrows at me and politely wondered after my well-being, in that wonderful southern way, and then I realized that the entire room was staring at me.

As if that weren't enough, there was this one:

Kelso:Arctic::Scott:Antarctic

Moral of the story:

MARS:RAREOAT::CHOKINGPEAR:ICY DOOM

* * *

and I ask - when isn't the moral of the story "icy doom"? Also this just goes to support the growing body of evidence which indicates that I am the center of the universe. Believe me, it's not a vanity thing. It's not even something I wanted. It just is.

I had crazy fire dreams last night. Also dreams about what happens beneath our feet. The latter were short lived and had everything to do with earth and structure and the meaning and the slow motion of what hold us up and what compels us and effects us in secret subtle ways. All worms, vertebra, roots and sand. The former on the other hand was about complete destruction and upheaval. Dire actions and consequences that I could see, smell and feel. Vivid color and sound and heat. Red, yellow and orange dancing. I remember feeling the wall separating me from the raging flames. It was hot of course and the white paint peeled away under my finger tips and it all smelled richly of ash and wood. I woke to the sound of the wind. Mad strong gusts manhandling the limbs of trees and knocking shit around in the backyards outside my window. 30 mile per hour winds I am told. So I guess now I am waiting for my water sign. hail? floods? blood? hm. I did have a pretty impressive bloody nose last night. Perhaps that's what precipitated it all. Or maybe it will just rain.

What the hell else? I am going to London. I planted over 150 bulbs this weekend. I had eggs with Andrew Bird. I am getting CPR certification next week. I love Brendan Benson, Pavement, and Anne Briggs.

oh also have a message for Sara - You should, if you have not already, read Perdido Street Station by China Mieville. It's breathtakingly raucous and good. Also, have fun in Tunisia!

I decided recently that Douglas Mawson beats out Apsley Cherry-Garrard as cutest Polar explorer ever. Actually the thing that amazes me the most about Mawson was - and this is not even considering his awesome survival story or those dashing good looks - that the guy was commanding his own Antarctic expedition by the age of 29. I am 29. I think that the closest I can get to that - in terms of tenacity or charisma - is throwing a party that more than 50 people show to and really that's not saying all that much. Would 25 people follow me to the south pole? Unlikely. I could maybe con one or two. three tops. This weekend - Tulips and Andrew Bird. My life is charmed.

November! what the crap?

Otto, my Encyclia cochlea is blooming. That's a happy and sickly sweet smelling thing.

two things -

1) whisker is a great word and if you have a cat, be sure to take a good long look at his or her whiskers as soon as you can. I did this recently and realized that it had been a long time since I had even noticed them which seems nuts cause they are crazy long and pointy. And so f'ing cute!

2) And speaking of things that are long and pointy - there is nothing funnier then stinkhorns. nothing. heh. British Puffballs, Earthstars and Stinkhorns. Now that sounds like a rockin dirty old time.

oh well, two more things -

1) I want to go to london so bad it hurts. I mean my heart is actually aching. I miss Julian something awful.

2) I can't decide if I am more in love with Clint Eastwood or Jonathan Rhys Meyers. My recent CE/JRM joint film fest has only served to confound the issue. ah, torn betweem two men... Is there anything more bittersweet or more lovely?

October!

I got my current phone number about 4 years ago. At the time I was immediately surprised by how many wrong number calls I received. Today, years later, I am still surprised. In fact I get even more now then I did then. Just today in fact I got three before noon. The last two both were collect calls originating from the Cape May County Correctional Facility. The first was from "Kahlil". The second from "I just got out and shit". I kid you not. In retrospect I think I should have accepted the charges on the second call and explained to Kahlil that whoever he was trying to reach was not gonna get his rather important message. But I was never one to think fast on her feet and really collect calls from ex cons are just not something I trained for... Anyway, sorry Kahlil. Good luck to you.

In other news, I am sick. Pitty me.

Also, I am having another Clint Eastwood fit. Think I going to rent "Dirty Harry"

mars and steerpike sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g...

"If ever he had harboured a conscience in his tough narrow breast he had by now dug out and flung away the awkward thing - flung it so far away that were he ever to need it again he could never find it. High-shouldered to a degree little short of malformation, slender and adroit of limb and frame, his eyes close-set and the colour of dried blood, he is climbing the spiral staircase of the soul of Gormenghast, bound for some pinnacle of the itching fancy - some wild, invulnerable eyrie best known to himself; where he can watch the world spread out below him, and shake exultantly his clotted wings." - Mervyn Peake on Steerpike.

My brother gave me a copy of the Gormenghast Novels a while ago and like so many books the collection sat on my shelf forever yearning to be read. It's a perilously long book and I wondered often if I would ever get to it. Then suddenly, riding high on the mania which got me through the Lord of the Rings in less then a week, I decided to sit down and try my hand at an altogether different type of, albeit equally long, fantasy story. The time was indeed ripe. Today, I finished the first book in the accidental trilogy, Titus Groan (Mervyn Peake died before finishing the fourth).

First let me say that this is a decidedly Parker Sibling (and in fact I am the third sibling to read them) sort of novel - troubled, lugubrious, repressed characters with fantastically fun names like Sepulchrave, Prunesquallor and Flay, a sprawling, decaying and haunted ancestral castle, arson, murder, twins, arcane ritual, alcoholism and if all that is not enough, there is a white rook named Master Chalk. (!!!) Secondly, it's delightfully written - detailed, original, morbid to the nines AND disarmingly humorous. At first glance Mervyn Peake seem as much a visionary as Tolkien. It's just a very very differnt vision.

Lastly, I fallen irrepressibly and pitifully in love with the sinister kitchen boy, ('His Infernal Slyness, the Arch-Fluke...') Steerpike. As villains go, he is nothing short of perfection. So young, so demented, so diabolical! Ah, Bless his wicked soul. Matters only became worse when an innocent google search for the image you see above (done by Peake himself) yielded several stills of the brooding and maniacal Jonathan Rhys Meyers (in the role for the BBC movie). Now, I think, it's natural to feel attracted to Steerpike. Peake wants you to be attracted to Steerpike. At least he does in Titus Groan, but as the title character of Titus grows into manhood in the next two books (he remains but an infant in the first), I can't help but fear that Peake's treatment of dear Steerpike will begin to become less affectionate or worse less consistent. This all remains to be seen. Will Titus be make suitable replacement in the story and in my heart? I have my doubts, but we shall see. And of course, it all has to end in Steerpike's death, right? Well until then I remain hopelessly devoted.

ooh Steerpike.

Dear person or persons that broke in to my house the other night and stole many things,

I hope you go to hell.

sincerely,

mars

Dear my Iranian Stallion aka Mr. Josueh Muzavizadegan,

You did have me going there. Especially since I had to scroll down to read your last comment...

Suffice to say horror did give way to laughter.

Unfortunately, I must confess that a distinct lack of information as well as general lack of enthusiasm have stymied my attempts at divining your true identity. Will you reveal yourself?

miss mars

top ten reasons why working from home rules:

10) working in underwear
9) can moon Hack production crew from office window
8) finally around to flirt with UPS guy
7) shower breaks
6) nap breaks
5) saving at least $50 a week by avoiding rite-aid impulse buys
4) sleeping until 8:55
3) delete sobig junk emails in the comfort of own home
2) did I mention I have not left the house in 4 days?

and the number one reason working from home rules:

1) can wear breathe right nasal strips without shame or fear of scorn

I hope you are all watching the night sky. You know Mars is coming, right? 20 more days and she be right on top of us. Head for the hills, people. To see better, I mean. If you are not sure what I am talking about, check it out: http://www.planetarysociety.org/marswatch2003

Django Reinhardt rules. Bless my sister Tawdry for introducing me to Hot Club of France. How did I live my life before this? On a steady diet of Andrew Bird, that's how! That said, I am not a huge fan of jazz guitar... but play that violin and I am yours. So I guess it's really Stephane Grappelli that's got my panties all in a bunch. Man could he fiddle. and look how cute...

It is as if Fox is trying to woo me. Tonight from 8 to 10 EST: 'National Geographic Presents: Bug Attack' and '101 Things Removed From The Human Body' daaaamn! You know where I'll be tonight. wink wink.

doh. lost that thought.
Friendster is eating my brain.

Encyclia. Masdevallia. Epilaelia. Laeliocattleya. Paphiopedilum. These are a few of my favorite things. Also, these are a few of my favorite things to say a loud. Try one. lay-lee-o-cat-lee-a. I am reminded of Nabokov.

The orchid fest was fun and I was very well behaved. I only purchased one even while my comrades bought two or more each. So I now have a bulbophyllum saurocephalum - a weird disturbing looking orchid. Saurocephalum means lizard or snake head and it was named so because the tiny flowers, when viewed from the side look like the heads of snakes. I see it, but am not so sure that this is the most well suited name for the plant. Bulbophyllum beelzebub is more like it. Honestly. When I first laid eye on this plant I said out loud, "what IS UP with all the flies?!" and then I did a double take. The flies were flowers - Dozens of tiny purple and white striped flowers growing along this creepy purple phallic spike. Based on what little I know about bulbophyllum all this made immediate sense to me. In several species, the flowers are pollinated by flies and they have developed very foul carrion odors to attract their favorite pollinators. Saurocephalum which is odorless took a whole other approach. It just decided to look like flies were welcome. Shit, I mean the whole thing just screams, "fly party - everyone's invited!" This amazes me. I love love love when plants and animals engage in mimicry. You don't get any cooler or better adapted then that.

In other orchid related news, Carson the phalaenopsis is going to bloom... AGAIN. He is unstoppable. All my other plants are doing wonderfully as well. I have 7 with new growth and maybe just maybe when the temperature dips this fall I will have 7 blooming orchids. Dare I hope? God, the prospect is almost too good to contemplate.

OH christ, and I have not mentioned my garden! I planted a garden! I had a site entry half written about it before I left for chicago. I think I will spare you the continued botanical name dropping though. It's making me feel silly. Suffice to say, I have a beautiful garden now and it is right and good.

It's time to eat dinner.

ok wait - one more - coreopsis. I love how you have to move your mouth to say that one.

ok bye.

ps: It was a sperm whale. how disappointing.

am I the only one still wondering what that giant x-file blob in chile was? when the hell are those genetic tests gonna come back? perhaps it's being hushed up...

* * *

Reader poll - the next best place for mars to take a vacation is:
a) Turkey
b) Croatia

* * *

tomorrow - orchid fest!

I finally remembered to look - my neurologist wears a wedding ring. darn.

oh and guess who fell in love with Chicago?

I posted photos from my cross country trip with melissa. nothing too fancy. In fact I am getting really boring in my old age... somebody wake me.

Everybody Dance Like There's Ass In Your Pants

How much do I love Achewood? HOW MUCH? Oh my god. I would like to marry Philippe because he is a special boy.

And now - Chicago!

The strangest thing just happened to me - I was sitting out on josh's front porch and I happened to notice a baby starling hopping around and remembering my first run in with a baby starling years ago - when one actually jumped in to my lap! - I thought to myself, "gee, if there are two animals that constantly find themselves in my path it's starlings and dragonflies". I was thinking then about how when you see those special animals, totem animals if you will, you might be on the right path and then about 30 seconds after that thought the biggest fanciest dragon fly landed about 2 feet from me. so I guess I am on the right path. Note that though these animals often appears separately, this is the second time I have had a starling/dragon fly encounter. The first was in rittenhouse square one summer. I was feeding the starlings and a dragonfly died at my feet. I still have him.

In other news - cthulhu washed up on a beach in chile. how about that?!
http://www.cnn.com/2003/TECH/science/07/02/giant.find/index.html

Twelve platinum coils, a stroke, a bottle of codeine, a head first plunge over my handle bars and a merchant marine later and I am feelin fine! It's been a hell of a week, I'll tell you what. I just sat down to write a whole bunch of crap, but I now find that I don't have the energy. Anyway what I said above pretty much sums it up. Actually to add insult to injury - if cuts, bruises and blood on my brain was not enough, I have a dentist appointment in an hour. At least I have good drugs and fine company.

whoo! I have a date with my interventional radiologists tomorrow. I confess though, the relationship is getting a little old - I get doped up and they fiddle around with my insides. Very little foreplay anymore and I'll be damned if they send me flowers.

Anyway, that's gotten me thinking. The only things I have to show for my times with them are this tiny little scars and some x ray films yet they do so much. They effect what goes on inside, they move things around. They change the landscape. And it's frankly weird to think of your body as anything other then an sealed vessel. I mean of course there is your mouth and other lovely orifices and all sorts of permeable membranes, but largely I think one considers their body a closed system. non? You may cut it, burn it, infect it, pierce it, have sex with it and shovel food down its throat, but largely your insides stay your insides and until you are subject to a medical procedure or freak accident, you don't often consider an internal organ or that larger bloody system of pipes and sacks as being accessible.

I am a bit disappointed that I never once thought of that encapsulated and untouched system before it was broken into. I never got to consider the perfection of the total entity before it was tampered with and altered forever.

oh well.

In other news, that cat I raised in high school, Phydeaux, died the other day. It was complete a surprise cause he has not been sick a day in his life. He just up and died! Well, more accurately he laid down and died. There is this horrible element of shock because he was a healthy cat, only aged 12 years. Yet there is also this overwhelming sense of relief and gladness. Phydeaux did not suffer one bit (not that he showed anyone anyway) and I'd like to think that he chose his time. He was a fine cat with a think gray coat and a head the size of a grape fruit. Now he is at rest with the others - up in the woods - with some bulbs planted above his grave. Au revoir Phydeaux Rex. Sleep tight.

After six hours under the gun, I was quite sure that nothing could possibly be worth that much of suffering. Nothing. I almost prayed. Almost, but then I realized I wasn't breathing and oxygen seemed more important then prayer. Was it worth it? Was it a rite of passage? Was it rewarding to hear the tattoo artist exclaim "damn girl, you have stamina"?

Was it worth it? yeah.

I know this rationally and yet outwardly I remain cautiously optimistic. I guess deep down, I am still not so sure. I need more time to get over the post traumatic stress of it all and then I am sure I will wear the ink proudly. Of course. It's too late not to aferall.

In any case, I have a new tattoo.

woah. prime number day.

For those of you who know and love me, renee, leah, julian or simone, I have posted some snap shots from our recent excursion to the big apple. If you don't know or love us these photos may well prove somewhat boring. In any case, it's up to you.

I am snakesitting. Kassidy's in Tennessee for two months and I offered to watch over Rosa, her Argentine boa. Her baby boa. Her ailing boa. Hapless Rosa.

Rosa is sick. No one is quite sure what is wrong with her, but she is most certainly dehydrated. So much so that she seem half her normal size. Her skins hangs off of her as if she were a snake in snake clothing and she is so dry she cracks as she slithers. Poor rosa.

She is refusing to eat. The little mice I bring her just sit and shake and wait for death. They die all right, but not by her jaws and I am left knowing it was really by my hand. Now amongst my sins I must count 'murderer of baby mice'. Great. Just what I need.

Wanna know what else? Snakes are scary!

I have handled those handsome ball pythons before. They are big enough to clearly be constrictors and thus you have faith that they wont bite, but not big enough to really be a threat to you. No worries. You are stronger then a ball python. Rosa is a constrictor to be sure, but she is also tiny. She is a baby after all and so she looks like a regular old snake. One that might have fangs and maybe even poison. She unnerves me that way. And man! You should hear her hiss. In case you've forgot (I had) snakes are where hisses come from. I swear hearing that raspy sinister exhalation so close to me - so intimately close - inches close in fact - really had me freaked out at first. I guess I kinda like it now, but it still can make my hair stand on end. It didn't help that she lunged at me the first couple times I tried to pick her up. I felt snake teeth graze my fingers...

Oh don't get me wrong, I don't mind having Rosa around at all. I am rather acclimated to it now. I can handle her effortlessly enough now - without fear of having to pry my hand free from her clenched jaw... It's just been a tense adjustment period.

Anyway, Rosa may or may not make it until Kassidy comes home next month. If she does not start eating then she is dust for sure. If you are into that sort of thing, please say a prayer for her. She needs it.

my neurologist: Well, you are just more complicated then any of my other patients.

me: and prettier too!

ok, I did not actually say that, but we were both thinking it, I can assure you.

Photos from recent trips. There well be more soon.

My pleurisy days afforded me one glorious pleasure - oxycodone.

Though "pleasure" might not be the correct term. Maybe "benefit" is more appropriate. I don't abuse pain killers because 1) I did once and it's ugly and 2) I need them. As a semichronic pain suffer, one learns that necessity breeds pragmatism. I am not about to get all shitty on pills when I require them for actual pain management and accordingly I have been nothing but faithful to this creed and 100% responsible with all pain killers that come my way. You see, I have never wanted to give my doctors or anyone else for that matter the idea that I can't handle them, because without them I am - well - I am a very sad, achy young lady.

Now as I mentioned, my last great windfall of pain pills came while I was suffering from an inflammation in the lining of my right lung. Opiates were necessary. Hell, morphine shots were necessary and no one seemed to think twice about supplying me with the pills to help get me through those hellish two weeks. I was careful with these pills. I took as few as I could bear. All the while knowing that if I held on to 10 or so, that my next 10 migraines would be rendered livable. This was genius. This was inspired.

And so it was. I found myself with about 13 left and between that and some sleeping pills, I have glided and dozed though my past 20 or so migraines. Let me mention at this point, that not a single prescribable (non scheduled)medication makes my headaches go away and none of the preventative meds I have tried so far work for much more then 6 months AND all these cost me over $20 plus a month. Suffice to say that over time I have learned that the most effective and cheapest way for me to handle my headaches is with opiates or barbiturates. I have let my doctors know this and now suddenly I seem a pariah. I can't get over the impression that they suspect the worst from me and I sadly can't ignore the fact that they have already said, "NO. You cant have any more pain killers, little girl"

Why? because I might develop a problem. I cant seem to impress upon them that I simply wont. That that is not an option and I know it. I have even gone so far as to offer myself up for monthly visits or phone calls to check in with them about my headaches and my pain management. I have asked if it would be too much for them to give me 3 pills a month. I'll take those as needed and if I end up with more then 3 migraines in a month then I'll just suffer through them.

But still the answer is "no". Man! I hate them.

I am writing all this because as I sit here, I am suffering through my 3rd migraine this week and I have taken my very last painkiller (Thank you to various friends to have postponed this moment with their very generous gifts of left over pain medication). But even after all of that, I am out. I have no more relief. I am spent.

My neurologist is aware of all of this and in a last ditch attempt he has prescribed me a new, as yet untried preventive medication. One that I have to take 3 times a day. One which will make me drowsy and god knows what else. oh joy.

Now believe me when I say I know what an non compliant patient I can be. Why should a doctor go out of their way to cater to me when I refuse their advice and constantly attempt to self medicate? Well, let me tell you why. Because I know what works for me. I take the damn pills they prescribe me and I know what works and what doesn't and what makes me bloat and what makes me sweat and what gives me hives and what kills my sex drive... I don't like to take pills that barely work, cost too much money and have nasty side effects. Especially not everyday - three times a day! It kinda bothers me, you know? I like to take cheap pills that do the trick and only when I need them. Jesus, is that so wrong?

god, sorry. I just needed to vent.

This morning I rode two stations past my normal trolley stop because I was engrossed in a book! I have not done that in years and actually I think the only other times this has happened it's been because I had fallen asleep. After my initial frustration over having to walk 5 extra blocks, I got really excited because it meant that I was so wrapped by this text that I had honest to god blocked out the rest of the word - enough to neglect and forget a habit I have kept for 5 years. That rules. And the book is that good too. At least for me it is.

It's The Enchanted Cup by Dorothy James Roberts (1903-1990) and it's a ~very~ contemporary version of the Tristan and Isolde myth and it's blowing me away.

Dorothy James Roberts grew up in the woods of West Virginia and published this book in 1954. I am in love. I am in love with her simple clean dialog. In love with the fresh and original turns she wove into this traditional story. I am in love with her sharp and quixotic Tristan. Of course. How could I not be? Tristan is my man.

Anyway, would you believe that my trolley ride was replaced by a joust!? A fucking joust! How indulgently childish. It was especially rich too - a joust between two of my favorite characters - Tristan and the brooding, dark Saracen knight Palamides. He is such a bad ass!

10 years ago I read my first version of the romance and since then... well, it's like this - If I know any one point is history, it's Antarctica between 1912 and 1916 and if I know any one fictional story, it's that of Tristan and Isolde.

Tonight, Triatan returns to Ireland to woo Isolde in Mark of Cornwall's name and lo and behold, they drink from that cup.

Often when singing to my baby bird, I think to myself, "If only I had a better song. If only, for you Sport, then you too would know to sing sweetly." But alas, my whistling skills are sadly stunted and thus so are Sport's. He can of course only learn what he is taught. Poor bird.

Now, I have long known what a fabulous whistler Mr. Andrew Bird is (as witnessed on his new solo cd, which you must go get cause it's 100% pretty) and have on many occasions said to my feathered friend, "Why, if only Mr. Andrew Bird could sing for you! He would teach you such lovely songs!" Sport has always refrained from commenting. I think to save my feelings. I have always reprised, "if only..."

Well now! Hear what has come to pass! Last night a tiny dream of mine came true. Through a handful of playful maneuvers and delightful machinations, I got Andrew Bird to sing to Sport.

It's true. It happened.

I was charmed. Andrew seemed slightly bemused. Sport was somewhat nonplused and promptly bit me to show his contempt for having been woken up at such a late hour... Then when Andrew had quickly and skillfully mastered Sport's favorite albeit simple tune, my dear parrot responded in kind by signing a few notes back.

I guess that's all I could have hoped for. Actually, that was all I ever really needed. I'll carry on knowing that I have done my best to do right by my Bird.

* * *

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (CTS), the most common of the Repetitive Motion illnesses, is known medically as a "nerve entrapment disorder."

* * *

04/11/03

Dear doctors, wouldbe-doctors and just plain know-it-alls,

I know you are out there.

This past weekend I was lazing around a New York City hotel room with Renee and we were discussing our sadly ruined mousing wrists. At some point I noted what I thought to be a truth - that a syndrome (in this case, carpal tunnel syndrome) was a medical condition thats exact cause was unknown. Renee called me on this, pointing out that we know what causes carpal tunnel. I admitted that I truly did not know the correct definition of a syndrome and that this was just an idea I had developed as a child. One which until this point I had not give much thought to. These sorts of childhood understandings are often proven wrong, so I conceded that (as so often is the case) I might not have a fucking clue what I was talking about, but also (to save face) pointed out that after time what was once known as a syndrome may have its origins determined, but that it may continue to be called as such for convenience's sake.

Ok so -

syndrome noun

1. A group of symptoms that collectively indicate or characterize a disease, psychological disorder, or other abnormal condition.

2. A complex of symptoms indicating the existence of an undesirable condition or quality.

SO I think this begins explains my misunderstanding of "syndrome". It's not that they don't know what causes a syndrome per se. It's that a syndrome is a set of symptoms that comprise or merely suggest an often more illusive condition - chronic fatigue syndrome, AIDS, SARS, etc.

Even with carpal tunnel, I guess the deal is you have pain and numbness so it's assumed that you have the syndrome... I mean, is there a reliable test for carpal tunnel? or do you just have it my virtue of having the symptoms? Interesting.

And it would sure seem that as time passes certain syndromes would move out of that realm and simply become specific diseases. For example, HHT (what I have) is still some times referred to as syndrome (osler-weber-rendu syndrome), but is now understood to be a genetic disorder. I suspect that's even why it was given a new fancy name - Heredity Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia. I don't know though, I wonder if there is still a basis for considering it a syndrome? Like if you have all the symptoms, but test negative for the disease, can you still have the syndrome?

Anyway, you see what I am saying. I think as a kid all that I could glean from something like this was that there is a mystery surrounding a syndrome and I guess in a lot of cases, there really is. Also, you might see that as an adult I am no better at figuring this crap out, so can anyone shed some light on this? Renee and I would both be grateful.

love,

mars

ps - What's your favorite syndrome? Mine's Stockholm!

* * *

(14:36:35) mars: syndromes are vague
(14:36:55) marychen: syndromes are the devil's playground

* * *

Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome?

You know how when you look longer and harder at sub atomic particles, they get weirder and smaller? Well it would seem that squid are just like that - only they get bigger and more terrifyingly monstrous.

GO SQUID!

oh! also it's kinda funny that as big as they are we have an even harder time finding these beasts then we do say, a gluon or quark. Hell, we can produce those particles in labs. I'd love to see us try to raise a colossal squid in a tank. Oh and if we did! Imagine the carnage! The carnage! You'd go through lab techs like fish food. I am kidding of course, but I do have to say that the image of a grad student with a white lab coat and a clip board slipping in or GOD, better yet - being yanked into to the tank by a slimy hooked tentacle and then being ravaged by a killer squid fills me with a certain amount of morbid glee. aaah the morbid glee... is there anything sweeter?

anyway, GO SQUID

Gone to texas...

Dear every boy who is not having sex with my best friend,

You are missing out. This is no joke. She has everything your hearts could desire and more... she has things you don't even know you desire... yet.

Get with the program, Gentleman. Give that lady some love.

sincerely,

mars

I entreat whomever I lent my Von Strassburg and Bedier versions of 'Tristan and Isolde' to please please please remind me of their whereabouts or better yet, surprise me with their safe return. I cant remember who you are and I need my fix and I am poor and can't afford to replace them. For the love of god and my sanity, have mercy.

Check out my folks. This photo was taken in 1959. That's 44 years ago. Can you honestly believe that time existed then?? I can't. By the way, that's a ukulele my dad is playing. Also check out my mom's cute knees!

Look what I have done -

From left to right: Carson, Jack, Zoolander (cause he is really really really good looking) and in pink, office orchid Midas.

Here's a quick list of some of the things I have learned recently. Each of these things had inspired me to write an daily entry for you. As you can see, I never did.

* * *

Philip Pullman's 'His Dark Materials' trilogy is now my favorite fantasy story. It's said that Tom Stoppard will be writing the screen play.

The Bourne Identity is a better movie then Minority Report and XXX combined.

Not everyone is OK with the idea of frog-eating spiders.

Static electricity can kill phones.

Sport is 10 grams overweight.

It's really hard not to fire a loaded gun.

I do not have a thyroid problem. Or so they say.

HUH. Maybe Sport as a thyroid problem...

The cute boy that makes my lattes often leaves a heart in the foam for me. It struck me recently that it rarely ever ends up looking like a heart. In truth, more often it looks like labia. Yessss indeedy.

I am going to drive cross country! Or that is I am going to be a passenger cross country. (OH speaking of which, I am wondering if I can get some ideas from you about what the best route through the following states would be: New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee and West Virginia. I want mountains, people. Rivers. And Swamp. Give me swamps. If you have any bright ideas or tried and true routes, please email me. You're a peach!)

* * *

I think there must have been a dozen other things I wanted to mention, but never mind.

Do you know who to pitch video game ideas to? If so, can you hook me up?

I was sitting around the other night watching my roommates play some ridiculous game. Virtua fighter 4, I think and I was trying really hard to think of what if anything could rope me in and entice me to play a game like that. I admit Tekken did it. It was the first and only time I played a fighting game and that was only cause I could be a grizzly bear. It's pretty clear to me that short of bears bitch slapping each other, there is not much allure to video games, especially not ones like virtua fighter which, it goes without saying, sorely lack bears.

So, right - the other night I was somewhere between thoughts of more beer and bear hugs when it hits me. I know the game I want to play. I know the game I would spend countless hours melting my brain over and avoiding my responsibilities and loved ones for - Siamese Combat in which conjoined twins duke it out and go for the K.O.

Right?!? Is that hot or what? Not sure? Well, check it out: In Siamese Combat you would have the opportunity to select one of the pair. The goal? It's self explanatory really. Knock your twin unconscious using any means possible before they do the same to you. Perhaps the twins would be fictionalized or perhaps we would take historical twins and put them to the test. Imagine - Chang and Eng in the ring, Tocci Brother wrestling or a Violet and Daisy Hilton cat fight!

Special moves would include, amongst other things, hair pulling, body slams and breath holding (of course). As far as weapons go, all I can really think of are various types of blunt objects, though hacksaws might really have a place here... I am sure other things will come to mind. The only thing I can not decide is if two pairs of twins fighting each other would be any fun. Maybe that will be the cool bonus round. Wait - siamese twins VS. bear?!?

Is this a million dollar idea or what?

. . .

oh man, I am so going to hell.

. . .

PS - Needless to say, I didn't get what I really wanted for Christmas. Ho hum.

PPS - Happy New Year. Tonight - party at Hazel. Come on by.

I have decided what I want for Christmas -
a Heath Ledger and Orlando Bloom sandwich.

[ ME ]